


More Than a Bargain

by AntiMaterielGirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Cigarettes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiMaterielGirl/pseuds/AntiMaterielGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Female Courier does a little trading and winds up getting more of a bargain than she first hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankHorrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankHorrigan/gifts).



 

“Three hundred and twenty-five caps.”

_Not in a million years_. “Highway robbery.” The nut-brown trader stands in the punishing sun, seemingly unperturbed as I tug the sleeves of my ill-fitting jacket further over my wrists. My cowboy hat, one I yanked off some poor dead Ranger, is pulled far down on my brow to protect my fair skin. That doesn’t fit either. I suppose that’s all you can expect, pulling your clothes off of dead people.

As if I have a choice.

The amiable merchant flashes a toothy grin, eyes hidden behind large, dark sunglasses. “If you offer something in trade, I could be persuaded to offer you a….discount.”

I sigh deeply. _Always._ Men saw my face, and couldn’t help but flirt. It didn’t happen so often when the hat was off, though – the scar that bullet left is pretty nasty. If I took the jacket off, I’d be able to display a nice collection of scars, too – from cazador stings and gecko bites to fiend bullets and Legion short sword slashes. Then again, he could probably show me a nice collection of his own. No one out here is pretty. The wasteland wounds all it touches.

I’m a woman on a mission. I’m going to kill the man who shot me, even if it kills me in the process. I’ve cut a swath across the Mojave, and still, this joker thinks he’s gonna rob me blind. For that price, at that condition…I’d rather take my chances with my shitty service rifle.

But I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for shotguns, condition be damned.

“Liquor.” I hold a hand out to Boone as he digs in his pack and produces two bottles of vodka we scavved from an abandoned shack out in the desert.

The trader’s face lights up. “Two ninety.”

“Deal.” I offer him my hand, and he shakes it eagerly. I produce the caps as he digs out the riot shotgun that I’ve coveted since I saw the barrel protruding from the back of one of his heavily laden pack brahmin.

As I grasp the stock, he grips the barrel tighter. “I’ve got some shells for you, stunning creature – if you’ll do me the honor of dinner tonight.” His bright white teeth flash in the harsh Mojave sun, one dark eyebrow lifted jauntily.

_Free ammo? Nothing comes for free out in the Wasteland. But I’ve got nothing better to do tonight._ I glance over at my stolid companion. Boone is eyeing the desert with his trademark thousand yard stare, a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. _Anything beats listening to him bitch about his dead wife. If he wasn’t such a good shot, I’d have kicked his ass to the curb a long time ago._ “Sure.“ I return his bright smile. I can’t help it – it’s infectious.

 

* * *

 

 

The fire crackles brightly as we munch on roasted gecko meat and some Blamco Mac and Cheese I’d been saving for a special occasion. The trader – who introduced himself as Jon – had sent his caravan and security detail ahead to make camp further on and broken out a bottle of wine that he’d been saving. God only knows how old that shit is, or what it’s made out of, but bad alcohol is better than no alcohol.

I’d already removed my hat and jacket. No need for ‘em in the dark, and although cool, it’s welcome after the grueling midday desert heat. He asks about my scar and I don’t need to embellish as I recount my story, allowing him to trace the rough edges with an index finger. His touch is soft, gentle – but I can feel the strength and power in his hands almost immediately. No doubt he’s been trading for a while. It’s rough on a body – the constant travel, the gripping, lifting, packing.

I’d noticed that he only has a few guards – which means that he either lost one, or he serves as one himself. Judging from his posture and his gestures, it was likely the latter. This man was familiar with a gun, had probably been trained to use one. Former NCR, probably, or a Ranger.

He brushes a strand of my hair away from my face, and at the last moment, on impulse, cups my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his hand. I can feel his deep brown eyes boring into me, reading my restless soul. “Boone – beat it. Go patrol the perimeter.”

The First Recon veteran grunts, tosses the remainder of his cigarette in the fire, and heads out to the flat rock westward, to keep watch for adventurous Legion scouts. He’s been pissy all day – he doesn’t like traveling with other people, says it makes us more of a target than we already are. He can grumble under his breath all he likes – I make the decisions, not him. If I want his opinion, I’ll give it to ‘im.

“I wanted you, from the moment I saw you,” the trader whispers in my ear. “I wished to make you mine.” His other hand grasps my breast for emphasis, almost painfully. I lean into him and shudder with anticipation. It’s been a while since I’ve had a man. Or, more accurately, since a man has had me.

I don’t like to have to do all the work. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I don’t want to make any more decisions. The eyes of dirty beggars haunt me, the grubby hands of their skinny children, the ragged clothing of almost everyone in the wasteland…I’m burned out. But I can’t stop now; the man in the checkered suit must pay for what he did to me. I’d set the Mojave on fire just to watch him burn.

_I must have this._ “Take me…please.”

His gentle hand grips my face tightly. “Please, what?” he growls.

“Please…Sir.”

I can feel him shudder; the moan from deep in his throat making me instantly wet. “A woman like you…so rare. So…valuable. A hidden gem in this…barren place.” He breathes deeply, rhythmically.

He grasps my neck, then lifts me to my feet.  I turn, and he pushes my back, leading me to the tiny shack that we’re holing up in for the night. Once inside, I turn to face him. He grips my throat and begins to squeeze, cutting off my air. As my legs fail me, he lowers me lovingly to the floor. I land flat on my back, arms splayed, gasping. He wastes no time – in an instant he straddles me. Perched on my chest he grasps my hair in great handfuls and leans over me, face-to-face. Our noses touch, and he breathes in, deeply. “You smell…divine.” He croons.

And then his lips are on mine, his tongue fighting its way inside my mouth. He tastes of wine and meat, smells of sweat and dust. His sharp teeth nip my lip and I yip in surprise and pain. He smiles, this time a predatory grin. He forces me to look into his deep brown eyes – eyes that I’d tried my hardest to avoid. _Without a word,_ _I know him. And he knows me._

Slowly, he unbuttons my blouse, and with a great flourish, exposes my breasts to the cool desert air. “Oh…” he moans. “More beautiful than I ever could have imagined.” I watch him intently as his face lowers to my chest. He takes a deep breath – then takes my nipple between his lips and sucks relentlessly. I can feel his weight upon me; he grinds his hard length against me as I writhe underneath him.

I moan at the sensation of his soft, greedy lips on my breast, then his teeth – oh, his teeth – bite down hard.

I scream in both pain and pleasure – with me, those two can never be separated. No matter how hard I’ve tried to repress, no matter how much I’ve wished I were different. Never. After a split second or an eternity, he relents. “Your screams…oh, so beautiful. Like an angel from heaven.”

My belt buckle clinks, and my boots and pants are roughly removed. He stands above me, judging, appraising my naked body. “Exquisite.” His hands grope my body roughly, squeezing, pinching, caressing.

“You gonna just feel me up, or are you gonna fuck me?”

He stops, immediately. The silence between us lengthens. I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, his rough palm connects with my cheek, a deep thud resounding in my skull. “Shut your mouth, you filthy whore. You’re mine, to do with as I please.” _Oh, music to my ears._

Even in the wasteland, it’s hard to find a man like this. One that’s not afraid to treat a woman as if she’s a thing, a piece of property. I’ve heard that it was hard to find someone like this before the war, too. And people like me? People who like being treated this way? We’re just as rare.

Maybe that’s why it feels magical when we find one another.

“On your knees.”

As gracefully as I can, I comply with his command. My shirt, covered with dust, flaps open, and he snatches the collar, pulling it up and off of my outstretched arms with a flourish, like a New Vegas stage magician unveiling his newest illusion.

My head hangs down, and I stare at his boots through the veil of my thick, dark blonde hair. In a flash he’s upon me, hand at the back of my neck. He grips firmly, then tighter, forcing me down, forcing my forehead to planks of the hard wooden floor. When he removes his hand, I know better than to attempt to get to my feet. Rump in the air, I shiver in anticipation as I await his next move, his next command.

I moan as his heavy boot rests on the back of my head. _This is what I live for._

“Look at you. Soaking wet, my boot on your head.” He grinds his foot left and right. “You like being abused, don’t you?” I moan again, louder. He chuckles.

_Yes. Yes I do._ For as long as I knew what sex was, I’ve had these urges. To be taken roughly; to be crushed under the boot of someone strong, vital, _powerful_. Pain has always turned me on, made me wet. Confused me, and the men I was with – well, most of them, anyway.  I still feel a bit guilty about it, although I’ve been told that I shouldn’t. Words swirl around inside my head: _weird, twisted, perverse, wrong…_

I can only imagine how _he_ feels, the man above me. How confused he must have been to discover that he derives pleasure from inflicting pain, from degrading and humiliating, from dominating his partners.

“You’ve been bad, haven’t you?” he growls, cruelly. I mewl thinly, and I can hear the frown on his face as he reprimands me. “Acknowledge me, girl.” He presses my head, just a little harder into the floor – hard enough to get his point across, not hard enough to really hurt me. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” I whimper. The soft rustle of clothing is almost lost in the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

His boot lifts, leaving my head feeling light, and somewhat lonely. Then, his hands – strong, dark, and coarse – caress my lifted bottom. A brutal sting accompanies a loud smack, my ass cheek surely reddening. I yip in pain and surprise. “What was that?” he asks. I bite my lip, knowing better than to let more than a whimper pass between my lips. _He wants compliance, not comment._

There’s a flurry of impacts punctuated by my shrill cries; a crescendo of pain, his palm likely stinging as much as my aching bottom. Abruptly, he ceases his assault. I can hear his heavy breathing –from more than just the effort of beating my soft round rear. He squeezes my ass hard, the tender flesh protesting, and I can’t stop myself from crying out.

“Oh, yes…” he whispers.

I scream as he grasps a fistful of my thick hair, lifting me off the floor, and dragging me towards the bare mattress on the simple metal frame resting across the room. He tosses me on my back and stands above my naked body, bare-chested, feet planted firmly, confidently, as if he owns the floor on which he stands.

With efficient, deliberate jerks, he removes his belt and unbuttons his trousers, freeing his stiff cock from the restrictive confines of the coarse clothing. I lay still, transfixed. An evil grin spreads across his face. “You want it, don’t you?” he says as he strokes himself absentmindedly.

_Goddamn right I do._ “Yes Sir.”

He grasps my shoulder and rolls me onto my stomach in a swift, fluid motion. “Nice and red,” he says as he caresses my tender bottom. Slipping an arm underneath my hips, he manhandles them into the air. Positioning himself behind me, he shoves my legs apart and penetrates me roughly, bottoming out in one sharp, deep thrust. I shout at the sudden intrusion. I squeeze him reflexively, and he grunts. “You like that, huh?” he asks, forcing himself deeper into me for emphasis.

I moan in response, then my scalp burns again, my head yanked back as he thrusts into me viciously. “I said, you like that, don’t you, whore?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He releases my hair, and his blunt fingernails dig into my hips as he pulls them to meet his. The sweet music of our coupling fills the tiny shack: the bedframe squeaks loudly and shudders with every thrust, knocking against the wall, my impassioned moans echo off the walls, punctuated with his bestial grunts from behind me. I can smell sweat and dust, the musky scent of sex, of two animals rutting.

He begins to thrust faster and I squeeze on him instinctively. With a loud groan and a shudder, he buries himself deep inside of me.

We stay like that for a few moments, lost in time.

I feel him slide out of me, and the mattress shifts as he dismounts. He shoves me, and I land on my side, watch him as he dresses. He pulls his pants up over his hips, sits on the bed to slip on his boots.

“Well…I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

My satisfied smirk says all he needs to know. He chuckles as he rises from the bed. “Clean up and get dressed,” he orders, as he snatches his shirt off the floor and shrugs it on. He watches me as I bend over to pick up my clothing, dressing slowly, deliberately, giving him a generous eyeful of my shapely red derriere.

He sets a box of shotgun shells on a nearby table almost absently, strides confidently to the door, and stops with his hand on the knob, tossing a satisfied smirk of his own over his shoulder. “So…I’m sure we can come to a more _permanent_ arrangement in the future.”

“That sounds…agreeable.”

He gives me a curt nod before yanking open the door and stepping through, closing it softly behind him. I hear his boots clunk softly on the wooden porch and down the solitary stair. I can imagine him adjusting his pants, swaggering confidently, a shit-eating grin on his face, as he relives it all in his mind, heading back to his caravan. Assuming command, maybe a bit more lenient than he was just yesterday.

I sit on the bed and sigh deeply as I pull my boots on, enjoying the delicious ache in my bottom. I pick up the box of ammo, absently tossing it from one hand to the other. _You can’t get ammo for free out here._ But of course, it wasn’t free. Relationships like these; it’s all give and take. More the giving than the taking, at least on my part. But I like it that way. I smile. _Agreeable indeed._

I take inventory of my pack before I turn in for the night, check it against my PipBoy. You can’t be too careful out here. Always gotta be prepared.

I holler out at Boone, tell him to get his ass in and get some shut-eye. We’re leaving early tomorrow.

You know…places to go, people to kill.


End file.
